 So the next morning ... {yeah I won't even kid about the bright and early part.}
... I head downtown to catch the N or the R {sorry it's been so long since this
actually happened that I've forgotten how I got there. And I'm too lazy to go
look for the address.} Once on the train I find myself once again headed into
the far out parts of Brooklyn, parts that no one with a will to live would venture.
No they aren't dangerous spots. Not unless danger to you meant being bored to
death by the deadness of the neighborhoods.
Looking around I realize that the place seems familiar. Then it hits me, I'd
been out there before. Well near the area anyway. I'd once had an interview
with the well known NY Adult novelty store The Pink Pussycat. Obviously I didn't get the job, because come on. Would I have quit or risked being fired from THAT job? Think of how much more I'd have to write about if I worked there.
No, unfortunately I wasn't acceptable enough for the job. Or something. The
cow who interviewed me told me that she'd call me and never did. Bitch. That
sucked. I mean come on, how bad can you be when you're being turned down for
employment by a place that sells buttplugs for god's sake? lol I can hear the
gasps of some of you, shocked by my daring to use god's name in such a sentence. Suck on it twits. It's just a sentence. It ain't the Armageddon.
So anyway, I'm walking up the block to the address for the piss test. I finally
find it and I swear to god this place had more security than the airport. Electronic
doors, guards, more electronic doors. And I swear there was an xray machine hidden behind a plant. God knows what pictures they have of my innards right now. So anyway I hand in the documents that had been given to me my first day with the temp agency and I'm given a clipboard to fill out while I sit. So I sit.
There are three guys in the room. Two of them look like they just came over
the border. I swear I expected one of them to whip out a sombrero and do a hat
dance. No I'm not being a bigot or anything that's just how the guy looked.
The other one was wearing those nasty quarter boots that I hate to see on ANYONE. With HEELS. If Bush wants to amend the constitution to ban anything, it should be those shoes.
Paco goes in and he's out in a flash. I don't know if that's a good sign. As
he leaves, this well dressed business suit attired guy enters, wearing an ID badge
just like the one I'd gotten the day before from the bank. Ha I thought, observing
the expression on his face. He looked like he'd expected to see Donald Trump
in the room. Sorry buddy, this is the standard piss test for peons and I'm sorry
to inform you, but you're one of em. No matter how many fancy suits you might
pick up. You've got the same cheaplooking ID as me and you're in this hellhole
right now about to become far too friendly with a plastic cup, just like me.
So take the clipboard, wait your turn and then go home and cry about that Harvard degree I'm sure your mother has displayed somewhere.
Now it's my turn. I'm escorted down the hall, all the while praying that this
isn't one of those insanely uptight places that demand you make your sample right
in front of them. I've heard about them and let me tell you it ain't never gonna
happen to moi. What I do in the bathroom is for me and the throne alone. No
one else. If that chick had come into the stall with me I'd have left immediately.
I certainly didn't need the job that badly. Well yes I did, but a staged protest
is at least appreciated.
Fortunately for me she just hands me the cup and points to a line and tells me to hit it. The look I gave her should have withered her on the spot, but I'm
guessing she's used to that sort of thing from people a lot taller and probably
a lot more intimidating. Taking my cup, I head to the stall, wondering how in
the hell am I going to fill this cup to that line. Contrary to what those people
might have thought, I was not in the desert for fifty years before I took the
test. So No I didn't guzzle up the Hudson to quench my thirst, so therefore filling
that cup would have been physically impossible. Still, I gave it my best shot.
Still didn't succeed, but the chick outside didn't seem to care one way or the
other.
Now I know what you're thinking. Look at how close we've all become. So close that we can now talk about toilet issues with each other. I know. I'm disgusted too. But I gotta share. That's why you're here right?
Ugh. I was grossing myself out by standing there listening to that woman instruct me while I hold my cup of nono juice. I'm rather disgusted. I don't think there's ever a time, regardless of the reason, why anyone would ever feel comfortable or in the slightest bit good just standing around holding a cup of urine. At that moment I had great admiration for men who go to sperm banks. Well not admiration, more of an even more intense sense of disgust at wondering how in the hell they could do what they do in those rooms and then come out smiling and handing anyone their cups. Well I get how they could come out smiling, but dude come on. That's just not cool.
Great I'm grossing myself out all over again and it's been several months since this incident occurred. So to get away from the icky bits, I follow the woman's instructions and put the thing in the thing and got the hell out of there.
I all but ran to the train. Anything to put that horror story behind me. I
know some of you are scoffing and wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Well screw you. I get grossed out by gross things. Yes it was my urine, but if urine was meant to be handled in such a way whoever made us would have ... you know what? I don't even want to contemplate that situation. It's like when my cousin's son puked on me a few years ago. Yeah he didn't do it deliberately, he was sick and it accidentally went on me, but still man. It's puke. No matter who it comes from it's gross as hell and no one should be expected to just smile and wipe it off like it doesn't matter.
Hell I don't even like my puke going anywhere but in the toilet. If I puked
on any of my clothing I'd sure as hell not bother washing it. That thing would
be in the garbage. Just the image of that mixing with my other clothes in the
wash is just enough to freak me out and give me a seizure. Never had one, but
I'm pretty sure I'm due one sooner or later.
So now we're back to the guy on the train using it as his personal gym. Seriously what is that? I'm returning home wondering how many other people had to do what I'd just done today. Scanning the faces of my fellow passengers offered little info, but looking at some, I figured it was a hell of a lot better not knowing. There are just some people you don't want to imagine being indisposed like that.
And that was my latest adventure in job hunting. It's a little insane, and everytime it seems to get stranger and stranger. But I got the job I requested from cheeryvoiced 'itch, so it was all good. Granted two months later I all but ran out the door when the assignment ended. It was almost as bad as the mail center.
I guess  is right. I have far more fun actually writing about these jobs than I do at the jobs themselves. I should do a book. Think of all the people I'd save from shitty jobs. I guess this idea will have to wait a while, though cause I'm finally back in college. Yeah I'm done being the asshole. Time to revert back to the intelligent, productive
human I used to be. Ha, who am I kidding? I'll be lucky if my brain doesn't
override by the end of the first week.
But think of all the fun we'll have as I recount stories about my classmates
and professors. Nothing's funnier than college professors. This should be good.
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